


Overcoming the Silence

by MightyMouse16



Category: Original Work, Poetry - Fandom, venting - Fandom
Genre: Bullying, Mentions of Violence, fear to speak, overcoming problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 06:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyMouse16/pseuds/MightyMouse16
Summary: This is an original piece that serves as a great example of how I get through things when it gets tough.





	Overcoming the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on true events. There is a little bit of violence but it isn't explicit, and coming to solutions with help from my teachers and counselor(s).

      It was my first year in middle school at East Literature Magnet when they introduced seminars to us. The way they explained it was we read an excerpt of a book or a poem that relates to history or current events. The classroom served as a safe space for everybody’s opinions, and it sounded fun and constructive at the time. I quickly found out that that wasn’t the case. I remember all the eye rolls, snide remarks, scoffs, and the teacher reprimanding them. I didn’t pay it any mind at first. I felt satisfaction when I shared my opinions, giving them an opportunity to how I saw things and hoping that it would broaden their perspective on things a bit. I also tried to keep an open mind by asking questions, making sure that I got every detail I thought I needed to somewhat understand. What I didn’t understand was the actions that took place outside of class.

       The bell rang, doors opened, children of all heights and ages filed out into the hallway to clog the hallway. It was hard to make my way to my locker located a few feet from the classroom I had left. Some bumped into me, apologies were muttered, and then all I remember was the left side of my head slamming into the locker. There was a ringing blocking out everyone else, eyes blurry with unshed tears, and movement sluggish. No one came to my aid; they were perfectly content watching as I struggle to gather my books up. It was humiliating to say the least. I went to the guidance counselor, telling them what happened. They asked me why did it happen. I wanted to know the same thing. Things never really got better after that. It seemed that with each seminar it got worse. Thankfully nothing got physical again, but the alternative outcome wasn’t delightful either. It was always an argument that led to cursing and insults that would hurt even the bystanders. I’m sad to say that even my pride hurt because I couldn’t come up with a witty comeback or chose to handle the situation differently. Eventually, I went to the office to talk with the vice principal. Promises were made, but never once did I see his effort in resolving the issue. I had promised to tell him or a teacher what was going on, which in turn created a label for myself. I was known as a “snitch”. I was talked down to because I was doing that instead of getting in trouble by arguing. Finally, I had enough of it all. I had become silent in the next seminar, refusing to utter a word in the round robin. The teacher shook their head in disappointment before moving on to the next. I could tell that the ones that frequently taunt me took this as a victory, and how I hated it so. I was about to leave when I was pulled aside by the teacher facilitating the seminar. They asked me, ‘“Why didn’t you talk today?”’ My response was just a shrug, eyes trailing to the door longingly. They snapped back when I was told that I had failed and had to re-do the seminar. Judging by the look on my face, another question was asked, ‘“What happened?”’

     That lone question was enough to temporarily break my silence. A choked sob escaped as my eyes burned. I told them everything in detail causing them to look at me in shock and pity. I relished in the hug I was given, making me cry harder because it showed that someone actually cared. Someone cared that I was being treated this way, and had given me some solid advice. Much better than what my own mother had done. She thought that a trip to school and talking it out would do the trick. What helped me was that I was reminded of what I was taught when I was younger,I have the right to speech. I was reminded that I had the right to say what I had to say, to express myself. It was stressed that not only I had that right. No one could take that away from anyone even if what was said wasn’t liked, offensive, or threatening. However, that doesn’t mean that you could get away with it. I left that room feeling slightly better as I held two points in mind. One, I had the right to speech. Two, if things got out of hand, never be afraid to tell someone.


End file.
